


Poetry in Motion

by kimono_mom_1024



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chocolate, F/M, Homework, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimono_mom_1024/pseuds/kimono_mom_1024
Summary: Chloe nearly did a spit take with her most recent mouthful of coffee as that particular and previously unknown realization struck. "William?" she sputtered, "... As in Shakespeare?" *Now that 'Thanks for the punch-up’ line makes sense...* Chloe mused somewhat disbelievingly to herself as she recalled the seemingly ancient copy of Hamlet on Lucifer’s bookshelf."Yes darling, but try to keep up; you're interrupting the lesson!" Lucifer said in a playfully exasperated tone. "Now, then," he continued, turning his head back to Trixie, "when William got stuck, it was because he was trying to write about things that were out of rhythm with his nature.""Out of rhythm?" Trixie asked, slightly confused."Yes. For example, when he wanted to write a piece for his mistresses, I told him to write with the same rhythm that he would use doing the things he would do regularly with them, such as having s--"Chloe's eyes popped wide open as Lucifer’s near-gaff tore her from her thoughts, nearly shouting, "sss-such fun playing jump rope with them!" She shot a quintessential "mom" look at Lucifer, disbelieving that be nearly likened the rhythm of poetry to sex to her nine-year-old.





	Poetry in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Contains homework, chocolate, and suggestive poetry. Takes place some time after season 3 or possibly 4. Technically "T" for teen, but the writing is sexually charged and very suggestive toward the end. (Poetry inspired by the saucy ladies of the Filii Hircus Discord and our artistic musings.) If such things bother you, then pay heed and go no further. Otherwise, hope you enjoy my second fic ever!

The cool breeze blew gently through the kitchen window, gently rustling the multitude of pictures tacked up on a nearby wall. As Chloe took the moment to savor the warmth of the mug of coffee heating her palms, she closed her eyes and breathed in the calm of the morning while it lasted. It seemed unseasonably cool on this otherwise as-of-yet unremarkable day, with no intrusive sounds interrupting her thoughts but the birds trilling in the tree outside her kitchen window and her daughter's pencil haphazardly scritching across her notebook page...that is, until a very frustrated sigh shattered the silence of the moment.

"But I don't _WANT_ to write a poem! Poetry is so boring," Trixie lamented, slamming her notebook closed in disgust. Her backpack slid off the counter and onto the floor in protest of her sudden and forceful action. "Nobody writes in Iambic Pentameter anymore. This assignment's stupid," she stated unequivocally while staring pointedly at her mother.

"Don't look at me that way young lady," Chloe replied with a pointed look of her own, "Whether you think it's 'stupid' or not, it's homework and it has to be done. Now keep working, your dad will be here soon to pick you up." Trixie moaned in resignation as she opened her notebook once more, haphazardly writing a few words down then scratching them out again almost instantly. She projected absolute misery as she propped her face in her one hand, silently wishing her father would hurry up and save her from the poetry hell she was stuck in. Chloe couldn't help but smile softly at the tempest in the proverbial teapot that was currently plaguing her daughter. _This too shall pass, monkey,_ she thought bemusedly as another cool breeze pushed its way through the window. Chloe looked toward the door, realizing that this time the breeze had a light pulsating quality--the kind that came with a lightly flapping force--which she now recognized as a precursor to a very specific and suit-clad interruption. She set down her mug and started toward the door, looking forward to this particular brand of disquiet.

"Why do I have to write poetry anyway? Only old people write poems --" Trixie started, only to be interrupted by Lucifer bounding through the helplessly and previously locked door, just before Chloe could get to it.

"Good morning all," Lucifer said cheerily as he bounded into the kitchen, brown grocery bag tucked into his Prada-clad arm. "What's this about poetry?" he asked as he moved deftly past Chloe, opening the refrigerator door as if it were his, and relocating items from the bag to replenish the ingredients necessary for the over-indulgent breakfasts he liked to cook for the detective (and occasionally her spawn).

"It's stupid, and only old people write it. And my teacher is making us write it to torture us. And we're never going to use it so there's no point," Trixie lamented, forgoing her normal launch-like hug at Lucifer for the sake of her pouting at the counter.

Lucifer stopped his refrigerator organization in its tracks, turning to Trixie with genuine surprise; chocolate sauce bottle still clutched, forgotten in his hand. "Child! You know not of what you speak!" Trixie turned and looked at him with that one look that only truly clever children can give adults, that communicates that perfect mix of _You're shitting me,_ and _I want to believe you but don't_ and _You're just trying to trick me into doing something I don't want to do,_ all in a single glare. Spurred on by the spawn's nonverbal disbelief, Lucifer continued, "Poetry is wonderful! An exercise in thought, mastering language to do your bidding; blending desire into the expression of will and intention!" Then, turning and gesturing to Chloe in an overly-dramatic fashion, despite still holding the chocolate sauce, he said, "I thought you said the Spawn's school was top notch!"

Sighing at the twitch that suddenly graced her left eye, Chloe lightly replied, "It is, Lucifer. She just--"

"Well clearly not, detective, if this is the impression of the verbal arts that the wretched place has left upon her!" he interrupted. Just as Chloe started to feel minor annoyance shift into the beginnings of frustration, Lucifer set down the chocolate sauce on the counter and proceeded to take off his suit coat. Folding it in half and placing it on top of the counter, he then undid his cuff links, stating authoritatively, "Clearly I will have to take it upon myself to teach you properly, child." His lighthearted seriousness had Trixie beaming. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows as he sat next to the now amused-yet-studious child, (for if Lucifer liked poetry, then poetry was serious business), as Trixie sifted through her notebook for a fresh page.

Chloe's heart skipped a beat at the sight before her. Her daughter and partner, backs turned to her, now giggling over a private joke whispered between them. Half-listening to their conversation, she refilled her coffee mug. Trying and mostly failing to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she moved around the kitchen island and sat opposite of Lucifer and Trixie, whose heads were now hunkered down low near the page as they spoke in conspiratorial tones. Lucifer continued quietly to Trixie, "Now child, Iambic Pentameter isn't difficult; it's all about rhythm. When dear William was stuck--"

Chloe nearly did a spit take with her most recent mouthful of coffee as that particular and previously unknown realization struck. "William?" she sputtered, "... As in Shakespeare?" _Now that “Thanks for the ‘punch-up’” line makes sense..._ Chloe mused somewhat disbelievingly to herself as she recalled the seemingly ancient copy of Hamlet on Lucifer’s bookshelf.

"Yes darling, but try to keep up; you're interrupting the lesson!" Lucifer said in a playfully exasperated tone. "Now, then," he continued, turning his head back to Trixie, "when William got stuck, it was because he was trying to write about things that were out of rhythm with his nature."

"Out of rhythm?" Trixie asked, slightly confused.

"Yes. For example, when he wanted to write a piece for his mistresses, I told him to write with the same rhythm that he would use doing the things he would do regularly with them, such as having s--"

Chloe's eyes popped wide open as Lucifer’s near-gaff tore her from her thoughts, nearly shouting, "sss-such fun playing jump rope with them!" She shot a quintessential "mom" look at Lucifer, disbelieving that be nearly likened the rhythm of poetry to sex to her nine-year-old. Trixie looked at her mother, slightly startled and said, "Huh?"

Lucifer, confused at first then (mercifully) catching on quickly, added to Chloe's rushed statement, "Er, yes child, William had...such fun...jumping rope..." he shot the detective an apologetic look, "...with many of the fair maidens in his city. Truthfully once I came along he enjoyed jumping rope with the more attractive men as well," he blithely continued staring into space briefly (mainly for the comedic effect of teasing the detective) until Chloe's distinct *ahem* snapped him out of his apparent reverie.

"So how does jumping rope make poetry?" Trixie asked, not entirely believing the shoddy cover up that the two adults at the table were engaging in, nor believing it had any connection to her assignment.

Chloe set her mug down on the counter top. "Honey, think of when you jump rope with your friends. There's a ba-BUMP rhythm of the rope hitting the ground and then your feet, right? Like rope-FEET, rope-FEET, rope-FEET," she tapped out on the counter in time with her words. "That's the kind of rhythm this assignment has to have, with five rope-FEET's for each thought."

"OK... That tells me _**how**_ to write, but that still doesn't help me figure out **_what_** to write," Trixie said, still somewhat confused.

"Trixie babe, did your teacher give you a subject you had to write about?" Chloe asked gently, shifting on her stool slightly to lean forward toward her little one.

"No, which is why this is so haaaard!" Trixie half-wailed as her head flopped back dramatically against her shoulders.

"Child, never lament the condition of having free will. At times like this, ask yourself WWWD," Lucifer said, "What Would William Do?" when he was met with a blank stare and pointed look from the Decker women at the counter, he clarified, "Write about what you _desire_. Think about what you want most, then put it down on the page!" he finished with a smile.

Trixie's eyes lit up at the thought. "So you mean I could write about chocolate cake, or being the first President of Mars?!"

"Why stop there?" Lucifer egged her newfound enthusiasm on, "write about celebrating your status as the first President of Mars by eating the first ever slice of Martian chocolate cake!"

At that moment, the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Trixie's father. Chloe was chuckling as she got up to answer the door for Dan. As Dan said hello to Chloe with a quick hug, Trixie flung her arms around Lucifer. Before he could react, she beamed, "Thank you Lucifer! I can actually do this now!" Just as quickly, Trixie scrambled off the stool to shove her books and papers into her backpack.

"Oh God, what have you been teaching my daughter," Dan wearily queried at the tall-dark-and-smug presence at the counter. "Wrong deity, my dear Daniel. He would never teach her about the finer things in life, unlike her favorite Devil," he said with a cat-like grin on his face, enjoying Dan's discomfort from the perch of his stool by the counter. "Today's lesson was poetry."

"Best not to get into it, Dan," Chloe said gently as Trixie ran to hug her father, backpack in tow. "The important thing is that she has an assignment to finish, and Lucifer was helping." Dan shrugged, still eyeing Lucifer with his standard look of slight apprehension and distrust. "OK, well we will make sure it gets done. Right Trix?" he said as they turned to walk out the door. After a hurried, "Bye mom, bye Lucifer!" Chloe watched as Trixie and Dan meandered down the front walk. All the way, she could hear the lengthening echoes of Trixie babbling excitedly to Dan over what had been tortuous only an hour before.

As Chloe closed the door behind them, Lucifer stood from the stool, remembering the chocolate sauce bottle. He started to return it to the refrigerator, but stopped mid-turn and faced the detective with a puzzled look. "You know, I truly don't understand you humans sometimes. You have the capacity for such beauty with words, but instead of relishing in them you limit them to 140 characters or less whenever possible."

Chloe returned to her previous seat and faced Lucifer from across the counter once more, taking another sip of her coffee. "OK, but Trix did kind of have a point before you got all ' _Lucifer_ ' on the assignment. Poetry isn't used a lot in the real world, and it doesn't exactly have the same effect on people now as it did back in the day."

"I beg to differ detective!" he stated with mock hurt, his free hand flying to his chest as if to clutch imaginary pearls. Chloe rolled her eyes in response. "I am scandalized by your lack of imagination! Regardless of the subject matter, the word play of poetry can bring out the natural beauty in truly anything!"

Feeling playfully combative, Chloe sat up straighter in her seat, squaring her shoulders as she said, "OK then, Lucifer, how about the President of Mars?"

"What?" he replied, temporarily confused by her stance change and words.

"Too hard? Ok, let's make it easier. Chocolate cake, or even easier; dessert in general." Chloe said with a confident smile.

Lucifer looked blankly at her for a moment. "Dessert... ," he repeated, head clocked to he side quizzically, not quite following.

"Yup, dessert. Sticky, sugar-filled, carbohydrate-heavy, messy dessert. If it's so easy, then 'Bring out the natural beauty' of that. In a poem. Right now," she smiled confidently, feeling as if for once she had a successful _gotcha_  moment with her favorite Devil. "Preferably in Iambic Pentameter, in honor of today's poetry lesson."

"Right now?" he confirmed, bemused by the challenge, "Are you proposing a wager, detective?" A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but he schooled his features to remain as neutral as possible as he waited for her response. "What's in it for me?" He raised an eyebrow in challenge, "And please don't say a slice of cake." He could feel his body humming with ideas, his mind like that of a cat eager to pounce on its prey.

Unaware of her predestined fate, Chloe playfully looked toward the ceiling as if for inspiration. "Well, if I'm satisfied that it's a _good_ poem, then, I guess we can... I don't know," she flustered, grasping for ideas that didn't come, confidence wavering slightly, "well, winner's choice, I guess." As a positively wicked grin broke free on Lucifer's face, she quickly added, "Within reason!! Within reason!!" He leaned forward against the counter, still grinning, elbows and hands tenting in consideration in front of his face, the gesture drawing him nearer the detective. She continued, "And if it's not a good poem, then..." her eyes lit up as her brain finally landed on an idea, "You have to help me through my backlog of paperwork today." She beamed as she looked him square in the eye, confident that she would finally get him to commit to doing his share of the mountains of paperwork that graced her desk both at home and the precinct.

Smile never wavering, Lucifer wordlessly reached for Chloe's free hand, leaning further across the kitchen island. He looked seductively into her eyes as his face tipped toward her fingers. Turning over her wrist so he could blow a soft and hot breath across the sensitive pulse point, he teasingly rubbed his lips against it, feeling her pulse skitter at the sudden contact. "Consider it a deal with the Devil," he rumbled lowly with a predatory grin as he popped open the chocolate sauce bottle with his free hand. Before she could voice an objection, he quickly squirted a small dollop onto the detective's wrist, and started speaking in a deep, low rumble:

"To taste, but sweet, to eat,

      of your dessert;

Tis much too rich a dream

      I may behold--"

As Chloe's eyes widened to the size of saucers, Lucifer gently licked at the chocolate, sending sparks of heat shooting up her arm and throughout the rest of her body. Her mouth hung slightly open in disbelief as he continued:

"Desire as I to sample

      from th' plate,

And tempt your flavors melt

      from 'neath the fold."

Chloe's breath sped up at the cacophony of sensations she was experiencing. _Wooo this was a dangerous idea... Decker, you're in trouble,_ she thought before her mind completely scattered. He finished off the chocolate with another soft lick at the pulse of her wrist, and gently turned her hand over; stealing a glance at her priceless expression briefly through hooded eyelids. Noting the dark blush across her pale face, he danced his piano-player's fingers across her knuckles.

"To tongue the sweet from fingers

     lush with haste,

A groan from mine own lips

     would sound, and lo;

I shan't refuse temptation's

      eager fate,

Consuming all, to pleasure

      in your throes."

He gently held her fingers as if she were royalty, looking directly into her eyes as he placed the softest whisper of a kiss on the knuckles he had been teasing seconds earlier. He stayed there, smirking up at her as her brain seemed to be short circuiting in crackles and fizzes that he could practically see dance in her eyes. Leaning back to give her some room to breathe, he released her hand and quietly purred, "It's amusing to see... an army of men with guns can do nothing to stop you, yet a few words from my lips and you…come... to a screeching halt. I shall have to write you poetry more often."

As he released her hand she snapped back to reality, the proverbial spell broken. He turned his back to replace the chocolate sauce to the fridge, leaving her staring at his backside as he dug around for something in the refrigerator once more. "So my love, what would you like for breakfast?" he asked, as if nothing at all had just transpired. "I can make omelettes, crepes, a quiche..." he started listing off as Chloe finally stood, somewhat shakily at first, and came from around the corner. Her body still seemed to hum impossibly with energy, unable to bring herself to be miffed that poetry was yet another thing he was apparently good--scratch that--very _VERY_ good at.

"Well, what about out wager?" she asked, sliding her hand up his broad vested back as she spoke, still seeming to feel sparks at the touch. Intrigued, he turned into the caress, facing her with a mock-serious look, "Well, detective, I can't have you starving to death before I collect my prize. Besides, the meal will allow me ponder all the delightful possibilities. Now, what would you like for breakfast?" he queried again.

Chloe walked past him with a knowing smile on her face. Confused, Lucifer closed the refrigerator door and followed a few steps, only to stop in his tracks as she tossed a look over her shoulder that took his breath away. " I think...I want dessert, " she said coyly as she walked out of sight and into her bedroom. Momentarily stunned, Lucifer stood rooted to the spot, staring at the space where the detective had just been standing. "You, my dear, are poetry in motion," he said to himself, his brain kicking back into gear as his long strides carried him across the floor to her door.

\---------------------

The cool breeze blew gently through the kitchen window, gently rustling the multitude of pictures tacked up on a nearby wall. As Chloe took the moment to savor the warmth of the mug of coffee heating her palms, she closed her eyes and breathed in the calm of the afternoon while it lasted. It seemed unseasonably cool on this rather remarkable day; but neither she, nor her partner in all things, felt the cold as the breeze wafted through her apartment and in through the open door of the bedroom. They sat comfortably snuggled against each other in bed, delighting in each other's closeness, as Chloe granted Lucifer's prize of teaching her the finer points of...poetry...all afternoon.


End file.
